Connections

            I heard a really cool story from a customer the other day.  She’s recently gone back to school, and her cohort spent a week together on campus essentially getting to know each other.   The major theme of the week was “Connections,” and the students had to bring a meaningful gift to share with an assigned partner in the group.  Over the course of the week, they shared stories about themselves and their lives, opening up to each other as the days passed. 

One of the women in the group eventually shared her history as an Olympic athlete, who had competed in two recent Games.  She had lost her father years ago, but had kept his memory with her over the intervening years by carrying, no matter where she went, a gift that he had given her… a piece of the Berlin Wall.  As she travelled the globe, competing at the highest level sport has to offer, this piece of the wall went everywhere with her… until earlier this year, when somehow she lost it.  The woman, as you can imagine, was devastated.

As I mentioned earlier, each person in the group had brought a gift to share with their assigned partner.  Care to guess what the random person she was paired up with had brought for his partner?  That’s right… a piece of the Berlin Wall.  Of all the millions of things he could have chosen to bring; heck, of all the different people within the group that she could have been paired up with.  I have no idea what the odds against something like that happening are, but the number is big… like really, really big.  It’s kinda spooky, really, although things like this happen every day, all over the place… we’re just not always aware of them.  Are they evidence of that universal guiding force, creating moments like this all over the place?  Perhaps, although with the number of interactions between people that happen every day, things like this are bound to occur.  Regardless of your take, it really is a small, connected world, and one that is getting smaller and more connected as time goes by.

The whole connections theme she talked about really got me thinking… not so much about connections in the spiritual sense, but about the smaller, more everyday connections that we make, or don’t make, on a regular basis. 

I’ve been working for Starbucks for a really, really, ridiculously long time… almost exactly a third of my life.  I’d have never guessed when I started how long I would last with the company, and in a lot of ways it’s been waaaaay too long.  That said, it’s been pretty good for me in a lot of ways, and to this day there are still parts of it that I really enjoy.  As I said to someone recently, the customers are the best part of the job… and, often, the worst part of it as well.  I’ve got some amazing pain-in-the-ass customer stories from my years  ( my favorite is still the woman who couldn’t understand why I made her take her two dogs, strapped to her chest in a snuggly, out of the store when, and I quote, “these dogs are far cleaner than you (me) will ever be!!!”), but they really are few and far between.  Way more common are the people who you see every morning, on their way to their jobs, construction workers and lawyers, doctors and nannies, students and movie stars… is there anything more democratic, more universal, than the morning cup of coffee? 

The conversations move at varying speeds, 30 seconds at a time, but they all travel the same route… from “what can we do for you this morning” to “it’s a grande dark, right?” to “the usual, Marty?” to “hey, Jess, how was your trip?  Survived travelling with the kids, did you?”  Impersonal and business-like becomes friendly, as connections are made, and in some cases strengthened.  Over the years I’ve gone for beers with customers, added a few of them on Facebook (random aside… I’m shocked that Word didn’t recognize Facebook as an actual word), even gotten interviews and jobs through connections that I made at Starbucks.  Every time I go out and about in my neighbourhood, I run into someone, or often many someones, that I know. 

What’s amazing to me is that I live in a city that has an incredibly strong reputation as a place where those connections are hard to make.  Vancouver, apparently, is a totally shut down city where people stay in their own little bubbles, heads down, earphones on, carefully getting from A to B without ever actually making eye contact with anyone, and god forbid you actually speak to someone you don’t know.  Maybe I’m the anomaly, but that’s never been my experience of this, or any other place.  Maritimers are renowned for being friendly, down-to-earth people, the opposite of we Vancouverites… and while I didn’t find that to be wrong, people were really friendly there, I didn’t find it to be all that different from here.  People are people, in my experience, no matter where they’re from… accents are different, some customs change, but people are people. 

Not too far down the road, I’m going to be leaving Starbucks behind, finally.  My teaching career is about to fully engage, and I’ll move, on, leaving the green apron behind.  It will be interesting to see how that changes my life; without those forced, every day connections, will I slowly start to see the Vancouver everyone else does?  Is the job what makes my experience different, or is it something in me?  Who knows, I guess, the only way to answer a question like that is to wait and see.  I’d be surprised, though… maybe it’s the small town in me, maybe it’s an inherent friendliness that others pick up on, or maybe it’s my considerable charm and devastating good looks… ok, definitely not that last one, but I think the first two fit.  I am making a choice to keep those connections going, and continue to make new ones.  Why not?  Really, what is there to lose, by trying to be a friendly face to the world?

Possibilities

          The other day, it finally happened: after years out of school, more years back at school, and what felt like eons waiting to get hired by a school, I got hired to join the family business.  I am now, officially, a working teacher, having had my first day of work yesterday.  To paraphrase the recently deceased Neal Armstrong, it was at once a tiny step and great leap; nothing so dramatic as a walk on the moon, in the grand scheme of things, and yet as profound a moment in my life as those first steps on the moon were in his.  A new landscape has been opened, a new world is mine to explore and discover.
           The journey to this point has been an… interesting one, in many ways, and yet every step (or in the moment, mis-step) has led me to exactly this point.  There are many in this world who tell you everything happens for a reason… many others who don’t buy the idea that we are being guided in our path.  I’m not sure where I fit in that debate; my answer will change depending on the day, the moment; sometimes it seems like there must be a plan, and yet at other times I wonder how there could be.  There are so many horrible, catastrophic things that happen in this world, big and small, that I almost hope it is random, for I don’t know if I want to be at the whim of some guiding force that at times has such a cruel, sadistic sense of humour.
            Regardless of how I got here (and really, does it matter how we got here?  We’re here, wherever here is, let’s make the best of it), I know that here, right here, is the perfect place for me to be.  I am about to embark on an amazing career path, one that I am excited about for a million reasons.  It is rewarding; it is challenging, exciting, important, difficult at times and effortless at others… many, many more things that I will continue to discover for the rest of my working life.  That, above all, is what I look forward to; the knowledge that I will be discovering new things day in and day out, for however long I stay in the classroom.  Teaching is many things, but it is never boring, never routine, for those who dare to challenge themselves, and never let it become boring or routine.  I grew up in a house with two great examples of that… well, actually, five great examples of that, as all of us are following in the footsteps of parents who love what they do, and are damn good at it, to boot.
                There were times over the last year and a half since I graduated that I wondered if this day would ever happen, if this career would ever get started.  Application after application ended with one of two responses, that in a way were one response; either total and complete silence, which is a sad reality of this saturated teaching market, with hundreds or thousands of applicants vying for every job, making it impractical to respond unless the news is good; or, on the rare occasion where I did get through the initial onslaught of applicants, I got the honour of hearing an actual, personal “no.”  It was maddening, frustrating, disappointing… then, eventually, it became disheartening.  I kept telling people that it was just a matter of time, that it was bound to happen sooner or later, but I stopped believing it.  I have a lot of good relationships with customers at Starbucks, people that I talk to every day, and have gotten to know pretty well; I began to curse those relationships, as each and every one asked, and asked, and asked, how the job hunt was going, if anything was happening.  The forced smile got more and more difficult, the fake cheer harder and harder to muster, as I told them what I knew deep down wasn’t true; that it would happen soon.  I forgot what may be the two most important words in the English language:  “I could.”
               I have come to realize the importance of these words over the last month or so.  I’m a supremely logical person, one who can see all sides of most arguments even if I don’t necessarily believe them, and am hard to shake off of a position once I arrive at one.  I looked at the numbers, looked at what I had to offer on paper, and came to the conclusion that I was going to be one of those who never got a shot.  Sometimes it’s who you know, sometimes it’s what you know… in a lot of places these days, you need to know someone to even get a chance to show what you know, and it seemed like the few people I knew were in the wrong place, or weren’t enough to give me a chance to show what I knew.  How do you stand out, in a cover letter and resume, from the 500, or 1000, or 10000, other people who have almost exactly the same qualifications that you do?  I couldn’t figure it out, and I almost stopped trying.  Would have, if my wife would have let me.  Fortunately, she didn’t.
               I had forgotten that I had possibilities, that I had choices I could make.  I could doesn’t have to mean I will… it just means that I have options, if I want them.  I could go to law school.  Maybe it doesn’t make sense for me, maybe I will choose not to… but I could.  I could volunteer in a number of schools, make more and better connections in Vancouver to get a job here.  I don’t think I want to work for the VSB, the district and the process here seem broken, to me… but I could.  I’m working in Chilliwack, and commuting from Kits.  I don’t think I want to do this for more than a little while… but I could.  I have options, and I see them now… really, I always did, I just couldn’t, or didn’t, see them.
                There are always options in life.  Hate your job?  There are lots of them out there, and people change them every day.  It might be hard, it might be scary… but you could do it.  Don’t like where you live?  There are lots of places in this world, and many of them are amazing… go check them out.  I hear people complain about the rain in Vancouver literally every single day it rains, which as we all know is many.  This an amazing city, one that has a million things going for it, one that I love… but it rains.  A lot.  If you can’t deal with that, there are lots of places that get less rain.  Winnipeg gets way more sun than we do… why not move there?
             I have a lot of things that I want to start doing again, now that I’m teaching; I want to ski, I want to golf, I want to coach… most importantly, I want to spend more time with my family.  Time off with Lisa, and waaaay more time with Lizzie, are two huge reasons why I chose this career.   Finally, I’m going to start to make time to write.  It’s something that I’ve been pretty good at all my life, and want to explore that some more.  Will I ever do more than putter with it, do it for the enjoyment of it?  Probably not.

But I could.

Gravity

         We hear a lot these days about staying grounded, staying in the moment; how important it is that we take each moment as it comes, and don’t get bogged down with woulda, coulda, stuff that happened in the past and can’t be changed, however much we wish it could.  I think that as you go through life, many of us are lucky enough to find someone who can help us with that, that anchor who ties us to the now, keeps us from playing “what-if” too often.  I see that in my parents’ relationship, have witnessed it my whole life, and I think that I finally have that mirrored in my own.  Life can get rough, and very tricky at times, but that anchor can keep you tied to where you want to be, where you should be.
            Families have anchors, as well; that one central figure that holds everyone together, keeps you from drifting too far apart as you all make your own way in life.  It is far too easy to get caught up in the day to day, caught up in your own little world, and lose touch with those who are an important part of your life.  Weeks become months become years, and before you know it it’s been far too long without seeing someone who you care about.  The gravity of that central figure keeps you in orbit around them, so even as you move in your own life, you are kept in contact with others around that same figure.
            My family lost that central figure almost twenty years ago now.  My Papa passed away in 1994, far too soon despite his 85 years.  I’ve now lived almost half my life without him, and yet he still looms so large in my thoughts; I see his shadow in my Dad, a legacy that I long to live up to in my own life, as a father, and as a man.  That legacy is intimidating at times, as I find my own way in life, but I know both Dad and Papa are there for me, supporting me every step of the way.
            Since Papa died, his family has certainly drifted apart, at least from where we were.  I still see my family on occasion, and thoroughly enjoy their company when we get together, but the gaps in between are larger and larger as time goes on.  While it’s often like we’ve never been apart, children get older, lives change, and we drift.  The last few years weddings and milestone birthdays have served to bring us together, but there aren’t likely to be any more of those in the very near future; we will need to find our own reasons to keep in touch.
            This past weekend was a time for me where I felt that pull very strongly.  Seeing almost the entire Watson family I felt his presence with me the entire trip.  Driving by the old house in Cumberland, showing Lizzie where her Grampa grew up; the house that Papa bought when he came back from the war, that he lived in for the rest of his life.  Stopping for donuts at the bakery up the street, as we did when we were kids.  Of course, it’s no longer Auchterlone’s, and the donuts just don’t measure up to my memories; I’m not sure that they could, to be honest, no matter how good they are.  Childhood memories like that are hard to beat.
            Getting up to Gold River after faaaaar too many years, I felt him again.  My last time there was a fishing trip to Friendly Cove, where Dad and I went with Papa, Shane and Brian.  My first time on the open ocean was my first time getting seasick, as apparently growing up in Agassiz didn’t prepare my stomach to handle the up and down, up and down, up and down of fishing out there.  We caught a couple cod that day, and Brian filleted one of them on the spot, tossing the rest of the fish out of the boat to be picked up by a circling bald eagle.  That day was very firmly imprinted on my memory, and returning to the place brought it all back more strongly than I could have guessed.
            I felt the pull of family this weekend, and felt as strongly as ever how lucky I am to be part of such a friendly, loving, generous family.  The Comox Valley felt like a long lost home; I haven’t lived there in 34 years (god that makes me feel old), but it was so familiar, so full of memories, that for the first time I understood how my parents longed to go back there after so long away.  Home is where your family is, where your roots are; my parents have provided that for so long in the Fraser Valley, it has always been home.  And yet, as time passes away from there, I realize that without them, Agassiz holds little pull these days.  I’ll drive through it on occasion forever, probably, drive by the old houses where I lived and see how the town is doing, but even now it feels more like somewhere I was, once, and less like home.  Home is Vancouver, now, but I suddenly feel like that could change someday, as well.  Who knows, I could eventually follow my parents over to the island.  After a long time away, I suddenly feel that gravity again.

I missed it.

Father's Day Thoughts

I never knew my Papa’s father… I think he passed away before I was born, but maybe it happened during my lifetime, just before I can remember. Either way, there’s a sense of loss there, for he had to have been a great father, and great grandfather, and great-grandfather (ok, now this is getting confusing… should have chosen a word other than great).
Anyways, it might seem to be a bit of a stretch, assuming all these things of a man I never met; but only if you never met my Papa. I’ve said before that hero is probably the right word to describe him, in my eyes. I grew up in an extended family that was very close, and he was the centre of that, the glue that held that family together, a fact that unfortunately was made all too clear in the years after he passed away. We are still close, but since Papa left us it just hasn’t been the same.
Papa in his younger days was a star athlete and a great student, and the fact that he went away to UBC and then came back to little Cumberland has always stood out to me; here was a man who could have gone anywhere, done anything, but he went back to his roots, became principal of the school in town, and remained active in the community until the day he died. Family, community, these were what mattered, something he passed on to his children. He coached sports throughout his teaching career, including a stretch coaching Dad’s youth basketball team; sports, and family, a combination that has certainly been passed down. He was there at many of my key sports moments; the one of these that most sticks out in my head was when my basketball team, with Dad as coach, won the provincial championship, with Nanny and Papa in the stands.
With Papa as a role model, it might seem like a given that my father would be the same, but such things can never be taken for granted, especially when you consider that I was born when Dad was just 19. I can’t imagine having that kind of responsibility at that age, and in so many situations these days that is a recipe for disaster; kids, having kids. Fortunately for me, this wasn’t any 19 year-old.
Growing up, he was that perfect combination of parent and big brother, a playmate when I needed one, and yet an authority figure when he needed to be. Basketball, softball, golf, tennis, you name it he would play it with us (and beat us at it, a trend that faded far too late in life). The coaching gene had apparently been passed to him, as well, and all of us grew up in the Agassiz High gym, learning to dribble a basketball soon after we learned to walk. Once we began to play organized sports, he coached us if he could, if we wanted him to, and to this day he remains the best coach I ever had. Other coaches screamed and yelled and punished their players for mistakes, forced them to memorize plays, sucked the fun out of the game; he made us want to play, let us have fun while giving us the tools to be successful at the same time, and almost never raised his voice; and of course, when you never yell, it makes the times you do far more effective, as anyone who has been on the receiving end of his anger will attest to.
He coaching style and his parenting style are very similar, and I guess in a way that makes sense, they are different degrees of the same role; sports coach versus life coach. Patient, fun, allowing you room to make mistakes, and there to help you through them when you do; for as many times as I’m sure I disappointed him while growing up, I can not think of a single time where he disappointed me. You know, I don’t think there are very many people in this world who can say that about their parents; until I wrote that, I had never really thought about it, which I’m pretty sure makes it true.
This all started in my head the other day, when Lisa and Lizzie were making a Father’s Day card for me, and Lizzie saw a picture of a trophy with some writing on it; she asked Lisa what it said, so Lisa read it for her: “World’s Greatest Dad.” Lizzie responded: “Let’s use that one, because he is the greatest dad in the world.” I teared up a little bit when Lisa told me that, even as I thought Lizzie was wrong… she doesn’t have the greatest Dad in the world, I do, and I think if he read this my Dad would probably say the same thing. Three generations in a row thinking that they’ve got the greatest dad in the world is an amazing thing; and if Lizzie is still thinking the same thing 30 years from now then maybe I’ve fulfilled the legacy that I have been handed.
I miss you Papa.
Thank you Dad.
Happy Father’s Day.
I love you both.
June 20, 2010

Let's Keep Painting the Town Red

As long as I can remember, I’ve always felt like I had the extreme fortune to be born in the best country on earth. I’ve always described myself as an extremely proud Canadian, something that often seemed to put me in the minority. At least in this regard, (and many would probably argue in many regards) I’ve never felt the ‘Canadian reserve’ that has so often been used to describe our people, and I’ve often wished that we were not so self-conscious, so self-deprecating, that we would stand up and lay claim to what I’ve always felt was our rightful position as one of the world’s great nations. Not great powers (the US, Russia, China, they can battle over who belongs on that list), but great nations; beautiful, friendly, concerned with our citizens and those of the world at large, willing to take a stand on issues that are deemed important. Not perfect, not even close, but willing to admit to our imperfections, and take measures to fix them.
Maybe that’s why I’ve always been such a huge fan of the Olympics; in a country where flag-waving is often seen as unseemly, seen as something too American (and ‘not American’ has always been one of the ways we have defined ourselves), this was a chance to wave the flag, to cheer on our athletes, even as they so often struggled for success on the world stage. To me, perhaps the single most definitive Olympic moment (at least until Sidney’s goal) was Simon Whitfield standing on top of the Olympic podium, tears streaming down his face as he sang along with O Canada. That, to me, has always been the pinnacle of success, listening to your anthem because you were the best in the world at what you did. Outside of hearing Lizzie first cry, I can’t imagine too many better feelings.
Because of this, seeing the flags, the crowds, the sea of red that spread across the city and the country over the last couple of weeks has been absolutely amazing. Considering the apparent mixed sentiments towards the games that Vancouver and BC held, no one could have predicted how we would rise up and embrace the Games, but embrace them we did. Our ‘Glitch Games’, described by some as the worst ever a scant two days in, overcame tragedy on the backs of the thousands of people who jammed the streets, the concerts, the actual events, until our athletes overcame their first week struggles and crowned the games with final weekend triumph. Alex Bilodeau broke the drought, but to me the turning point was Virtue and Moir, opening the floodgates that kept the rings in Coal Harbour gold for most of the final week, culminating in a moment that will live in Canadian history, as some 25 million of us watched the hockey team claim gold, and then seemingly all converged on the corner of Granville and Robson to celebrate, peacefully for once. So many times those “where were you when…” moments are defined by tragedies; this was one of those, and it was in triumph.
Let’s do ourselves, and our country, a favour; let’s take this love of our country that we rediscovered, or just made public, and run with it, carry it forward. Let’s not let beer commercials be the only things that stir our pride; let’s not put on our Canada gear (and kudos to HBC for giving us gear worth wearing) and pick up our flags every couple of years, when the Olympics are on or our hockey team is playing; let’s wear our hearts on our sleeves every day. Not over the top, not in your face, not over the line that our American cousins cross too frequently; just confident, and proud, of who we are and where we are from. Let’s not make these two weeks something that happened, once. Let’s make them something that changed us, forever.